


Pseudonym: Charlie

by maq_moon



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jupiter Ascending Fic Challenge, Support Groups, but really why did i do this, mr night gets drunk, mr night needs a friend, vladie is gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maq_moon/pseuds/maq_moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chicanery Night is at an alcohol abuse support group meeting for all the wrong reasons.</p><p>FYJA Challenge- "Odd Couple" [Vladie & Mr. Night]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pseudonym: Charlie

**Author's Note:**

> I want to be very clear about this: while I've used an AA-type scenario as a plot device for shenanigans, I have great respect for the program and don't mean any offense to anyone in the program. I understand that alcoholism isn't funny, but Chicanery is a lush and fanon!Chicanery is a drunk, so there we are. *gets off of soapbox*

Pseudonym: Charlie

                Discomfort. Rough denim scratching his thin skin. Keeping a scarf over the lower part of his face. He had never liked wool; it made him itch. A cheap hooded sweatshirt pulled tight. Gloves, too, just in case. If the contract with his half-dead employer wasn't so sweet, he would cast off these hideous clothes and find another master. But the terms were _exceedingly_ generous, and all he had to do was find a chink in the armor. Mr. Night was no fighter, but he was excellent at gathering intelligence.

            He sat in the frigid basement of some old church, waiting for his mark. The minutes ticked by and people trickled in, arranging uncomfortable metal chairs into a circle. Men and women, faces he would never see again. An authority figure stood. Night frowned; where was the boy?

            The humans chanted something ritualistic. Night made mumbling noises behind his scarf. He hadn't been told about that part. He had been told that he would have to give his name and tell an outright lie about having an alcohol problem, then people would "share". He would learn the boy's name and shadow him, then report his findings to Lord Balem, whom he hoped would be alive long enough to pay him that delightful sum. Perhaps he would purchase some nice fur-lined slippers and a silk dressing gown. The thought of such luxuries distracted him from his current fashion crisis.

            When prompted, he stood. "Hello," he tittered nervously. "I'm Ch- _Charlie_ , and I'm an alcoholic." The words stuck in his throat and he had to force them from his tongue. Trickery was one thing, semantics a game, but lying was difficult for little Chicanery. Working for an Abrasax, he had learned early on to stick to the truth. This particular lie, lying about having an issue, rubbed him the wrong way. His Splicer had been an alcoholic, and he was nothing like her. He was nothing like these Tercies.

            "Hi, Charlie," a chorus of _actual_ alcoholics intoned. The leader was about to speak when the basement doors burst wide open, letting in a gust of winter air.

            "Knock knock, it's party o'clock!" the newcomer announced. He smacked his chewing gum and rummaged through two grocery bags. "Vladie brought goodies! Got some chips, wavy- I know you like 'em that way, Tamara," he winked. "Bugles for Andy, there you go, pal, eat up, you need to gain some weight. You look like a meth head or something. No offense." He tossed one of the brown paper bags to the floor and held bottles of colorful liquid in his hands. "Orange, Root Beer, and Diet Sprite for Diabetic Dave. Shit, I forgot cups. Ah, we're all friends here, we'll just pass 'em around."

            "Vladie," the group leader interrupted, "will you please take a seat? We have a new face tonight and we're all eager to get started."

            "Oh yeah. Yeah, sure. Want some Doritos? Cool Ranch," he offered, singing the last two words.

            "No thank you, Vladie. Now, Charlie..."

            "Can I simply listen to the others tonight? I'm a bit nervous," Night said, keeping his eyes on Vladie.

            What a disgusting creature. He was sweaty and oily; Night imagined that he hadn't bathed in a number of days. Despite the temperature, he was wearing a sleeveless shirt, occasionally flexing his muscles and feeling them. His sweatpants had crumbs on them and mysterious stains that would probably never wash out. He wore flip-flop sandals that exposed his less than adequate foot hygiene. Night shuddered at the thought of shadowing this thing. He hoped that its stench didn't linger.

            The meeting dragged on. By the end, Night wanted a drink or ten. He never was one who appreciated sob stories. The target, though, this Vladie... his "update" was most informative.

            "Okay, so my cousin Jupe is moving in with her boyfriend next month and my family is freaking out. I mean, we've never even met the guy. So everybody in the house is getting ripped off their asses and I'm just like, you know, why not? I'm not here because I'm actually an alcoholic, y'know? I just got a DWI on a suspended license. So I got shit-faced this week with my family, and we had a blast. It was like a holiday. Had the hangover of the century and would've missed work if I had a job, but it was worth it."

            Night didn't bother to listen to the ensuing conversation. Miss Jones was leaving her home to join the Legionnaire. But would that be enough information for Lord Balem?

            When the meeting was finally dismissed, Night approached Vladie. "You're here for the same reason as I am," he said, hoping he sounded sincere.

            "Sucks, yeah?"

            "I don't have a drinking problem," Night said. "People have a problem with my drinking."

            "Exactly, exactly!" Vladie agreed. "Charlie, yeah?" Night nodded. "Wanna hit the bar?"

            Chicanery smiled beneath his itchy scarf. "Definitely."

            Comfort. Smooth vodka (his favorite). Dark bourbon that had a bite on the back end. Something Vladie called a "Jagerbomb" that sent his head spinning and set his lips flapping. He said a lot of things he shouldn't have: things about Lord Balem, things about space. Fortunately, Vladie was just as plastered as he was and just nodded, excitedly inserting an "exactly!" every so often. At last the dreaded last call came. Those two words filled Night with dread. Did he learn something important? And where was his transport again?

            "You cool to drive, man?" Vladie asked.

            "I don't know what that means," Night keened. He rubbed his hands together anxiously. No, no, no, no, no. Where was he supposed to be picked up? At the church? That wasn't right. Even if it was, he wouldn't be able to find his way back there.

            "Okay, bro, you're sleeping on my couch tonight. Cool?"

            Night had enough clarity left to realize that this offer was indeed _cool_.

            He was awoken just a few hours later by a shriek. Chicanery fell off of the couch and tried to recall everything about the previous night. It was a touch-and-go exercise. "I understand your surprise, Miss Jones," he said, the stale taste of alcohol clinging to his teeth, "but I'm a guest." He looked at her from his place on the floor and gave a watery smile. She looked thoroughly unconvinced. "Vladie's guest." He blinked innocently and wrung his hands.

            "Vladie's guest?" Miss Jones echoed. Chicanery nodded. "Stand up." She sighed. With no small amount of effort he twisted himself to his feet, feeling the coarse denim scratch his knees. His head was swimming and there were two- wait, three- of Her Majesty standing before him, and three hands swiping forward to slap him across the face. "You don't have the right to speak his name after what you did. I don't know how you got on this planet, but if you value your life you'll get off of it right now."

            "Of- of course, Your Majesty. I'll just... try to find-"

            "You won't _try_ anything. You'll get the hell out of here. This minute, or I'm alerting the Aegis." She pushed Chicanery Night into the cold morning, not knowing that he desperately wanted to leave but couldn't remember how.

            The smell of frying bacon woke Vladie. He shuffled downstairs in his filthy robe, intending to snatch some food, drink some coffee, take a few aspirin, and rest until his hangover was gone. He tripped down the last two steps. He halted his march to the kitchen when he saw a red scarf and a pair of gloves strewn about the living room floor.

            "Charlie?" he called. "You cool, bro?" A quick glance told him that his new drinking buddy wasn't getting sick in the bathroom. "Hey Jupe?" He walked to the stove and took a deep breath.

            "Yeah?"

            "You seen my pal Charlie this morning? Some of his shit's still here."

            "Your... pal... Charlie."

            "Real little guy, kinda pale. Throws back vodka better than Dad. It's actually really impressive."

            "I kicked him out," Jupiter said, pouring the bacon grease into a jar.

            "That's my friend, Jupe! Not cool. And I don't have his number to give him his crap back. Well, I guess I'll just take it to the next meeting."

            Jupiter nearly burned herself. "You met him at a meeting?" She conjured up the image of Mr. Night sitting in her house, empty bottles beside him. It made some strange kind of sense. "Never mind, Vladie. I don't like him. Keep him away."

            Vladie stole a handful of bacon and rolled his eyes.

            Charlie wasn't at the next meeting or the one following. Vladie shrugged, deciding to leave the scarf and gloves in the church's Lost and Found box. Shivering, he started the walk home.

            "Would you like to, ah, hit the bar?" a squeaky voice beckoned from behind.

            "Charlie, you son of a bitch! Where you been, bro?"

            "The Unemployment Line, I'm afraid," Chicanery said.

            "You get fired? Shit."

            "I quit!" He laughed, pointy teeth prominent. "I quit, and I want to celebrate!"

            "Sweet! What you gonna do now?"

            "Law enforcement administration," Chicanery said proudly. "And I'll be local."

            "We can party every weekend! Oh, Charlie, let me take you to my _favorite_ bar. They got topless waitresses and hella good hot wings. First round's on me, buddy."

            "Lead the way."

              

 

              

**Author's Note:**

> I started this with every intention of it being serious(ish). Then on the second day of writing I found out a friend got engaged and I got so happy that I had no choice but to make things get silly. Now I'm imagining Night and Vladie having PJ parties and talking about the ladies they like and all sorts of mundane things that become weird because it's those two. BroTP. I didn't know I loved them until I typed it.


End file.
